


The Price of Passion

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Family, Gen, why Fëanor why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had always burned bright, from the moment he was born, but such passion comes not without a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Passion

**Author's Note:**

> "We never burned right."  
> —Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

He had always burned bright, from the moment he was born. Brilliant, gifted, talented, passionate—it was probably the fire in him that burned his mother out at last. With no strength left, all of it given to her only son, Míriel lay down to rest and never arose.

Some would have faltered. Some would have retreated into themselves and let the fire die. Fëanáro was not among them. He fed his forge, fed it with hate and anger, but also with knowledge and hope. There was much in his life to cause his fury: his new mother, Indis, her children, his father Finwë's changed nature. Fëanáro would not change so.

He channeled his fire into other things than the torment of his half-siblings. He became great among the Eldar, a craftsman of words and metals alike, a maker of thought and life as well. He took himself a wife, the russet-haired Nerdanel. Together they had seven sons, each great in their own manner.

But Fëanáro burned within him still. Not even Nerdanel, his wise and beloved spouse, could temper his thoughts. And so he set to task in the creation of his greatest work.

Light he took from the Two Trees, encasing it in gems that shone out all the brighter. Three were made, and he called them the silmarils. For a while Fëanáro was pleased, though not content, and his passion abated. But unease grew in the heart of Nerdanel, and she grew ever watchful of her husband and sons.

At this time, Melkor the unchained walked free among the Noldor. Rumors he spread, word that reached the ears of the sons of Indis. Nolofinwë and Arafinwë, sons of Indis, were troubled but sought peace with their proud half-brother. Peace was not to be found. Fëanáro drew a sword on Nolofinwë, and thus he was banished by the Valar for a time.

Before Fëanáro's exile was complete, the picture of peace was made between him and Nolofinwë. This peace was quickly shattered, for news reached the sons of Finwë of their father's demise at the hands of Melkor. Fëanáro was greatly sorrowed, for he loved his father. Now this was not all Melkor had done: he had also taken the silmarils.

It was this act that spurred Fëanáro's actions. He grieved greatly for his father, hate burning within him, but his passion flared to a greater heat knowing his beloved jewels were stolen. Thus he spoke with flame and conviction to the Noldor his people, and they left Aman in pursuit of Melkor the thief, named now by Fëanáro Morgoth the hated.

It was then that Nerdanel the Wise took her leave of her husband. She could temper him no longer, and, unable to hold him back from his doom, she foresaw only death in his future. She would not deal any further with the passion and one-mindedness possessed by Fëanáro, and she urged her sons to do the same. But each of the seven was loyal to their father, and stayed with him.

Upon the Holy Mountain Fëanáro and his seven sons swore an oath, an oath to find the silmarils and take them at all costs. This they swore by the name of Eru Ilúvatar the Father of All, and such an oath may not be broken.

Arafinwë and Nolofinwë were grieved as well, at the death of their father and at their brother's self made doom. Still they followed him whom they called Curufinwë, for they were bound to him. Arafinwë did indeed turn back, but only after much contention and the shedding of innocent blood.

By force, Fëanáro took boats from the Teleri, slaying his own kin. Swiftly after, he and his sons and their following boarded the ships and sailed from Aman, leaving the host of Nolofinwë behind.

At Losgar they landed. Fëanáro's eldest son Nelyafinwë urged his father to send back the ships to gather the remaining host of Noldor and bring them hence, for he was close in friendship with Findekáno, eldest son of Nolofinwë.

But Fëanáro's heart was hardened and he heeded not the words of Nelyafinwë his son. He himself cast the torch which burned the ships of the Teleri, and not until it was too late to save him did he realize Telufinwë his youngest child was still aboard. Nonetheless, though his sorrow was deep, his resolve did not waver, and Fëanáro marched on to his doom at the sword of Morgoth.

The host of Nolofinwë went north to brave Helcaraxë, but the host of Fëanáro went to Mithrim in Beleriand to confront Morgoth. there on the lakeshore came a great battle between the Noldor and Morgoth's orc brood.

Fëanáro rejoiced, for the battle was won on his behalf, but he was not abated by this victory. He pressed onward to Angband the fortress of Morgoth, filled with a feral joy that he could face his foe at last.

Fëanáro's passion consumed him, and he became wild and fey even to the eyes of his six remaining sons. He felt himself unstoppable, a great pillar of fire wielding a sword of wrath. He would wrest the silmarils from Morgoth and slay his enemy, even a fallen Vala.

But his fate was not such. In rash courage, Fëanáro sped ahead of his host. But Morgoth sent Balrogs against him, and surrounded, Fëanáro fought, his fire undimmed.

Long did he battle while vainly his host struggled on the edges of the battle to reach him, and he slew many of his foes. He was wounded by many blows and the fire of the Balrogs, but he was strong to the last.

Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, came finally to face Fëanáro himself, and it was he who smote the blow that laid Fëanáro low. Wounded beyond strenght, he would have perished then had not his sons arrived at last. The Balrogs, seeing their deed done, departed.

It was indeed Nelyafinwë the eldest who bore him up, swiftly assisted by his brothers, to take him back to Mithrim. But only coming to the foot of the mountains, Fëanáro bade them halt.

The fire and passion within him had grown hotter and hotter as he neared his death, and was now a fever. He knew his time was come, and he knew now in his last hours that none of the Noldor, nor any of the Eldar, could ever lay low Morgoth in his dark tower.

But still his rage was strong, and he thrice cursed his foe and pressed his sons to fulfil their oath and avenge their father.

His time had come. Saying these things, he expired. But no grave would Fëanáro Curufinwë, son of Míriel, have. The fire within him had one spark left, setting his earthly body ablaze with a last great light before the rising of the sun.

Thus Fëanáro, spirit of fire, paid at last the price of such passion that had never before been seen, nor even since, upon Arda, save it be in the great hatred of Morgoth himself. Alike were foes in life; now alike in death they are, taken gravely to the Halls of Mandos and chained both until the final battle, when passion once again must burn, though never justly nor right.


End file.
